Feet of Clay
by broadhands
Summary: Another story in my En Pointe arc. A former soldier of the Uniltiranyu find his true calling. Contemporary with 'The Empty Man' and 'Traitor'.
1. Chapter 1

**Feet of Clay**

"Fingers," yelled out Yuri. "Fingers!"

His friend was ignoring him. Then again, he was ignoring just about everyone these days. Not that Yuri could blame the poor bastard, not after what he had been though. Still, it had been long enough – as his foul-mouthed friend Sharon would say, it was long past time for Fingers to harden up.

"FINGERS!"

The former Delta Force soldier slowly turned around. "Did you say something, Yuri?"

"I've only been yelling at you for the last ten minutes," replied Yuri. Well, that was only a slight exaggeration. "What's wrong with you? You've developed the situation awareness of a fucking politician."

"Sorry, Yuri. I've had a lot on my mind," replied Fingers. "What is it?"

They were standing outside the maintenance building in Hell's Gate, by the wall bearing the wriggling mathematical notation defining the Kalinkey Theorem. A bunch of the maintenance engineers had spent three months of their free time carefully removing the military grey paint that had been applied over it by the orders of the late unlamented Mad Dog Quaritch. They had done a damn fine job – even the associated graffiti gleamed as though they had been painted yesterday.

"I've got something for you to see," said Yuri. "Come inside."

"The Boss is expecting me," said Fingers. "He's expecting the latest report on our consumables. If he doesn't get it this morning, he'll get damn narky."

"Jesus, Fingers. Even the Boss can wait for ten minutes," said Yuri. "It's not like we're at war now."

"Ok, ok," sighed Fingers. "As long as it's only ten minutes."

As they walked down the cavernous interior of the impressively ugly building, Fingers said, "I've always meant to ask – why doesn't your English have any trace of a Russian accent? I mean, you're as Russian as bloody Tolstoy."

"I was born and grew up in New Zealand. Dad was Chair of Russian Studies at Auckland University, while Mum was an artist," he said. "She specialised in traditional Māori stone carving, especially in greenstone."

"How the hell did you end up in the Spetznatz?"

"Mum and Dad were killed in the Great Auckland earthquake of 2134, when I was sixteen," replied Yuri. "The only relative who could take me in was my grandmother in St Petersburg. Even though my Russian was fluent, it was a hell of a culture shock. I had to change my name, just to fit in, because no one could pronounce mine correctly, and even then I was almost always called black-ass."

"What the hell for?"

"Mum was Māori," said Yuri. "And I didn't take at all after Dad's side of the family. I was typical Māori – at sixteen I was already six foot four and twenty-one stone. There were a couple of professional rugby teams who had offered me tryouts, but I didn't have anywhere to live after the quake, so it was off to Mother Russia and babushka."

He continued, "The Russians don't play rugby, so I went to art school until I was called up at nineteen. Then it was army all the way, until I got wounded in the Caucasus, and was invalided out. I was stoked when I got this gig, because civilian life on disability sucked, and I couldn't afford to go home to New Zealand."

"So what was your name?"

"Irirangi," replied Yuri. "It means spirit voice."

"I can see why you had trouble," said Fingers drily.

Yuri shrugged. "Mum was Māori through and through, tight down to the tattoos. Although Dad was a really nice bloke, it always surprised me that Mum married him."

"Where did the Kiwi accent go?"

He shrugged again. "It had to go so I could get credit for English at the army language school. The buggers only accepted generic American English, and they weren't interested in fluent Māori at all." Yuri grinned, and added, "If I cut loose with my enzed accent and vocab, the only person around here who would have a chance of understanding me would be Sharon – Oz and Kiwi are mostly mutually intelligible, you know."

"I had heard…" Yuri's voice trailed off.

On the metal bench they approached, there was a large sculpture of a Na'vi woman riding a palulukan, both snarling viciously. The energy of the piece was incredible – the coiled muscles and flared threat display of the palulukan looked as though it was about to pounce and savage its prey. The colours – the colours were perfect, from the black flesh tones of the palulukan right down to the woman's war paint.

"You like?"

Fingers said, "It's fucking awesome." He paused, and walked around the bench, studying the work. When he saw the translucent quality of the woman's delicate ears, he realised the sculpture must be porcelain, or something very much like it. "Is that Jake's wife? You know, Neytiri. It looks just like her."

"Jake saw one of my earlier pieces – a nantang – and asked if I could do a work for him," said Yuri. "It took ages for me to get the glazes right, and I was terrified when I finally put it in the oven for firing. Some of the work is so delicate that I was sure it would crack."

"What did you use as the framework?" asked Fingers. "I would think that there would be problems using wire. You know, different cooling rates causing the ceramic to crack during firing."

Yuri said, "You're no dummy. I started out with wire, but it was a fucking disaster. It wasn't until I switched to bone that I had any success. Now the kitchen saves me all the bone – there's a bloody mountain of it in cold storage – but it's a bugger to work, although the ash works wonders mixed with the clay. The carbon fibre reinforcing makes it as hard as steel, and I won't say a thing about how disgusting it is getting the remaining flesh off."

"Where did you get the clay?"

"There's a big deposit by the riverbank where the Omaticaya trail crosses Kunsìp Creek," said Yuri. "By the grove of apxangrr trees. It's fantastic stuff – better than any material I ever used on 'Rrta."

"Just up from the burnt-out Samson? That icky grey sludge that sticks to damn near everything?"

"You got it," affirmed Yuri.

"I have to ask a question," said Fingers. "Why the hell did you stay in the army when you can do sculpture like this?" He waved a hand at the palulukan. "Conscription in Russia is only for two years."

Yuri shrugged again. "One of my college professors told me my work was way too representational, even though my technique was ok, given I liked working in traditional materials. Any fool with a portable laser scanner and a 3d printer could do better. There was no bloody way I could make a living from it – just no market for it. So it was the army way, or no way."

"Fko kakrel," murmured Fingers, admiring the work yet again. Yuri had totally captured the spirit of the original. Jake would be totally blown away. "Well, thanks for showing me. I'd best be off. Renshaw isn't the most forgiving of blokes."

"I didn't ask you down to look at Jake's commission," said Yuri, walking over to a dark plastic curtain. "I wanted you to be the first to see this."

Fingers fell to his knees in shock.

The life-size sculpture behind the curtain was a beautiful Na'vi woman, a spear loosely held in her left hand, her right resting on her outthrust hip. Her head was tilted to one side, a rueful smile on her face, as though she thought the viewer was a skxawng.

"Se'ayl…" whispered Fingers. Yuri had captured the expression of his dead love perfectly. He fully expected the statue to speak and tell him he was an idiot.

"Colonel Renshaw wanted something to commemorate Operation Bounty," said Yuri. "I was going to do a sculpture of Amala, but he insisted that his wife did not need an ego boost – she was difficult enough already. That's when I decided to do Se'ayl instead. I always thought she had a lot of gumption, and God knows what she ever saw in you."

Fingers slowly stood, and wiped his eyes. "She's perfect." He released a long, shuddering breath. "Where are you putting her?"

"In the Colonel's longhouse," replied Yuri. "in the area where the council meets."

"She would like that," said Fingers. "Se'ayl always had something to say about the foolishness of men."

Yuri chuckled, "She was never backward in expressing her opinion."

"That she wasn't," he agreed, still gazing at the statue. "I will have to tell Änsìt, her father, of your work. He will want to see her again." Fingers sighed and turned towards Yuri, gripping him firmly on the shoulder. "Irayo, tsumukan," he said. "Oel asyzerok tì'i'avay krrä."

"Rey tìrey, tsumukan," replied Yuri.

Fingers nodded once, and then walked away.

* * *

Two days later, Yuri strolled up to the main gate, where Colonel Renshaw was watching a figure march steadily up the rise of the Omaticaya trail.

"He's left, then," said Yuri.

"Yes," replied the olo'eyktan of the Uniltìranyu, without looking at Yuri. "Fingers has gone after the Uluta woman. Eywa alone knows if he will find her, but at least he's doing something with his life."

"Glad to be of help," said Yuri. "It was a good suggestion of yours, to do Se'ayl."

They watched in silence until Fingers disappeared over the hill, when Renshaw said, "Why haven't you mated, Yuri?"

"Never found the right woman," said the sculptor. "I'm not the prettiest bloke you've ever seen, so most women never give me a second glance. I think the aphorism 'body is nothing, spirit is everything' only goes so far, even for the Na'vi."

"I've seen worse," said Renshaw, glancing at Yuri's face. It certainly had little to recommend it, as far as looks went – whether one was tawtute or Na'vi. "There was a sturmbeast bull with a broken top horn last month. I reckon he was uglier than you."

"Gee, thanks, Boss," growled Yuri drily. "Any time I want a compliment, I know where not to come now."

"As our mutual friend Sharon would say, no wucking furries, mate."

* * *

Over the next six months, there was a constant flow of visitors from almost all the Fifteen Clans, all eager to see the sculpture of Se'ayl. Theyl marvelled at the way it captured the spirit of the woman, and many went to the maintenance building to see other work of the artist.

Surprisingly, the constant stream of visitors did not disturb Yuri. All the Na'vi were quiet, and few spoke to him. All they wanted was to look at his art, or watch him work.

Several olo'eyktan from the clans came to commission work. Those he spoke to for over an hour each, trying to get a feeling of what they wanted, as Renshaw had impressed the need to maintain good relations with the neighbours of the Uniltìranyu. He did warn them it would take many months to do each piece, as invariably they wanted large works.

He had to hose down the aspirations of the olo'eyktan of the Plains people, who wanted a full-size representation of a pa'li. The statue of Se'ayl was close to the size limit of the microwave oven he was using, and he was doubtful that he could get the same outcomes from a wood-fired kiln. Yuri suspected it might take years of experimentation before he got consistent results. This was without even considering trying to fire a piece as large as a pa'li, which he suspected was near impossible – let alone trying to move one.

Most of the other visitors faded into the background, but one he did remember – Änsìt of the Omaticaya, the father of Se'ayl. He didn't say much – just that Yuri's hands spoke with the voice of the spirit of the Na'vi – but his words sent a shiver down Yuri's spine.

The same day he received another visitor, one he knew well.

"Kaltxi, Yuri," said the familiar voice from behind him. The lyrical tones were unmistakeable.

"Sharon," he exclaimed with a smile, turning around to greet his friend. If anything, she looked even more formidable than she did tooled up for combat – the swirling orange, black and red paint daubed over her entire body was startling, let alone the elaborate beading in her hair. It must take her hours to get ready. "What are you doing here? Aren't the spiritual cares of the Ikran People keeping you busy?"

The Tsahìk of the Ikranaru answered, "Actually, that's why I'm here."

"Eh?"

"Child, present yourself," ordered Sharon. A Na'vi girl stepped out from behind the Tsahìk. She looked to be about fourteen or fifteen. "Tanhì, this is my brother Yuri. He will teach you his art."

"What!" roared Yuri, in 'Ìnglìsì. "I'm not taking on any fucking apprentice, not for you, not for anyone. I don't have the fucking time, or inclination."

"I'm calling in a favour, Yuri," said Sharon calmly in the same language, unmoved by his bluster. "You'd still be sucking vacuum if it wasn't for me."

"Shit," he swore. "I can't believe even you would stoop that low. Just because you saved my life…"

"I'm a woman," said Sharon. "We go places men fear to tread – but even we aren't stupid enough to open a pressure door into vacuum."

"Ok, ok," he said. "You've got me. I'll do it, Sharon, but only because it's you. But I can't promise she'll be any good."

"Show him, Tanhì."

The girl dipped her hand into the basket slung from her should, pulling out a piece of unvarnished timber. She held it out shyly for Yuri to take.

"Hmmm," said Yuri. It was a hammerhead - 'angtsìk, the Na'vi called it – carved from a single piece of driftwood. "Not bad," he admitted. The work had a certain vitality to it, given the limitations of the material, although it was a little rough. "How long did it take you to carve?" he asked the girl directly.

"Tanhì is mute," interrupted Sharon. "It's part of the reason why we are here. Not being able to talk is a major problem with becoming a hunter, or virtually any of the other usual occupations for a Na'vi. Tsa'peen has given her a full workup, but there's no physiological or neurological reason for her inability to talk. So I am stuck."

"Jesus, Sharon," swore Yuri. "Talk about making it difficult."

"Think of it as a challenge," said Sharon. "I should warn you, though. Tanhì isn't stupid. You only have to tell her anything once."

Suddenly, Yuri looked worried, as though he had just realised what had been dumped on him - responsibility. "Where is she going to sleep?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," smiled Sharon. "Tanhì will be using my old quarters. I've already cleared it with the Boss. I'll be showing her around, so she knows where everything is, including the nard hole and how civilised plumbing works, and where the mess is, so the ins and out are covered."

With those words, Sharon took Tanhì's arm, and swept out of view as though she was a queen of legend.

"Fuck," whispered Yuri.

* * *

Tanhì was waiting at the bench alone when Yuri arrived the following morning. "Where is Zharr'n…the Tsahìk," he asked, and then cursed himself as a fool.

The girl shook her head, a serious expression on her face.

"Can you read? I mean, read the symbols that the tawtute use to record speech."

She shook her head again, and he sighed. It was going to be right back to basics. He pulled out the data tablet from his satchel, and beckoned her over. There were some lesson plans that he had used to learn how to read Na'vi – they had been developed by a friend of his, Linda Paklowski, who he reflected was now with the Ikranaru – the same clan as Tanhì's. She also had the sexiest damn voice he had ever heard.

"This is a doorway to the metallic brain made by the tawtute," he said. "There is much knowledge held within, but to learn it you must know how to read." He quickly called up the lesson plan, switched the language setting from English to Na'vi, and turned off the lesson setting requiring a vocal response. "To move from one symbol to the next, lightly press the straight arrow symbol. To repeat the sound for the symbol, press the curved arrow." He added, "You will recognise the voice of the teacher. If you get stuck, ask me for help."

He looked directly at the girl to see if she understood, and was relieved when she nodded. Yuri passed her the data tablet, and was relieved when she started to work it, however tentatively.

"I have need to speak to Amala, our Tsahìk," he said. She gave no sign of having heard him, being totally engrossed by the tablet. "I will be gone for a little while."

Linda's voice sounded out the syllables of Na'vi as he walked away.

* * *

"Amala," said Yuri. "I need some help."

"You've never asked for my help before," she observed. "Is it about the young woman Zharr'n has dropped in your lap?"

He should have known – Amala was tuned in to everything that happened around Hell's Gate. "Tanhì is a girl on the cusp of becoming a woman," he said. "I am ignorant of such things, but even I know of the tsumuke'awsiteng, and the need of all Na'vi women to have sisters of an age. It will be especially difficult for Tanhì to join one, as she is mute, and away from the clan of her birth.","

"It is thoughtful of you to consider Tanhì's welfare," said the Tsahìk. "I will ensure that she is introduced to the young women of the clan. Few of them are cruel, and I am sure she can find sisters amongst them."

He breathed a sigh of relief. Yuri well-remembered the chaos that descended on the Uniltìranyu before they became a clan, the chaos that was driven by the women until the Omaticaya brought the gift of Uniluke. Every man was thankful for that action – if he thought about it, the gift was the starting point of the journey the former tawtute travelled to become Na'vi.

Yuri had no wish to repeat that experience, even at the hand of a single teenage girl.

What the hell did he know about teenage girls?

The Tsahìk must have been reading his mind, as she smiled and said, "I am sure that Tanhì will give you as much knowledge as you share with her."

"You are sure of many things," he said.

"Yes, I am," she replied. "One of the things of which I am sure is that it was a good thing Ren'zhore persuaded you to sculpt Se'ayl rather than myself. It would have been disconcerting to see my face every time I entered this place."

* * *

When he returned to the maintenance building, Tanhì was still engrossed by the lesson on the data tablet. Yuri began thinking of how to proceed.

First of all, he would have to indent for another data tablet. Yuri suspected it may be difficult to wrench his out of Tanhì's hands. He would have to set up a reading list for her, covering the history and development of human art, together with works on technique, especially the development of perspective and composition. Not just Western art either – he would have to include the art of all cultures. It was a pity there wasn't much on Na'vi art, and then only on the art of the Omaticaya. Yuri had noticed significant differences between the clothing and jewellery worn by the differing clans, and had reflected these differences probably also existed in the other decorative arts. He had no idea how he was going to tackle that little issue.

He smiled, and thought of his mother's seminal work on Māori sculpture. It wasn't in the RDA database, but he had a signed hard copy he kept in his crib. Apart from the greenstone tiki necklace he wore around his neck every day, it was the only keepsake he had of his mother. Yuri would have to get around to scanning it so the English-Na'vi translator could get to work.

An arrow of melancholy shot into his heart, as he realised he was the last Māori speaker in the Universe. No-one would ever hear the songs that his mother sang to him as a child, ever again.

Don't think. Not about being the last. Move on to something else - the future was the ticket.

Preparation of materials – that was the other key building block. Unlike his time at the Ilya Repin Art Institute, he couldn't just nick down to the art supplier when he ran low. Time management was going to be an absolute bugger. He would have to make sure he reserved enough time to work on his own interests, not to mention commissions.

One other thing – the resolution of a portable data tablet would be too low to get the nuances of most of the art work. He would have to liberate a large wall-screen. Fortunately, he knew where there was one that was not in use.

That was how he came to be in the lab next to the Avatar link room, carefully removing the largest screen from its wall mounting. It was a pain wearing an exo-pack, as the atmosphere in the building was still set up for tawtute, even though the last one had passed though the Eye of Eywa a month ago. The ceilings were too damn low as well – his bruised skull could testify to that little problem.

"Yuri," said Renshaw.

"Ow," he said, as he involuntarily straightened to give the Boss some respect.

"Sorry," said the olo'eyktan. "I didn't mean to creep up on you."

"That's ok, Boss," replied Yuri. "I'm just taking this screen down to the maintenance building."

"Ah," said Renshaw. "The new apprentice. Data tablets just don't have the fine resolution or size to get the full impact, do they?"

"No."

"Do you want a hand with that?" asked Renshaw. "It's pretty big and awkward to move, even for a Na'vi."

"I'd appreciate it," said Yuri. "As long as you think it doesn't impinge on your dignity."

"There's not much chance of my head swelling when I'm under Amala's thumb," said Renshaw ruefully.

"Don't you believe it, Boss," said Yuri. "You got a good one there."

"Thanks," he said. When they had the screen on the handling trolley, Renshaw said, "There's a reason I came looking for you."

"Eh?"

"Not long after I got my captain's bars, I spent six months on exchange with the Kiwis. One of my peers took me to an All-Blacks game, where I saw my first haka." The olo'eyktan paused for a moment, and then asked, "I want you to write a haka for the Uniltìranyu, and train the men to dance it. Relations with the Rongloa are a little prickly now, and their olo'eyktan is coming next month to discuss the outstanding issues. We need a suitable ceremony to welcome him to our clan, and the thought of a haka popped straight into my mind. It will have to be in Na'vi, of course, not Māori. Can you do it?"

Yuri nodded slowly. There were quite a few Māori haka he knew that would fit the bill. He didn't think Ranginui would mind too much if he plagiarised them into Na'vi. "Haka, if done right, are very powerful, but I will need all the men for about two hours every night, from the end of this week. The men must believe in the haka for it to believable."

"You've got it."

Yuri thought for a moment. The women of the Uniltìranyu were proud also, and most of them were warriors. "The women too. They will learn the haka as well. And there must be a gift – a spear, or a warclub. To not have one shows disrespect."

"Ok."

"Thompson – you know, the pommy bastard – he was a bugler in the Coldstreams. At the end, after the giving of the gift, to honour our dead, he will play the Last Post, and the Reveille, after a minute's silence."

"You've given this some thought."

Yuri shrugged. "If we are to be a true clan of Na'vi, we must have our ceremonies, and recognise those who went before – despite the fact our people almost destroyed this world."

* * *

Yuri was surprised when Tanhì whipped through the lesson plans in a little over a week. Luckily, he already had assembled a fair whack of the reading list, so transferred it onto her tablet, and showed her how to swipe images up on to the big screen.

He was too involved in developing the haka to keep track of where Tanhì was up to.

On the day of the Rongloa visit, the heavens opened just before dawn. The entire Uniltìranyu clan stood out in the rain, waiting for the distinguished visitors. He was surprised when two familiar ikran flew in and landed – what the hell was Sharon and her mate doing here?

When he saw them greeted by the Boss, it appeared that they were expected. From what he knew of Na'vi interclan relations, only the most serious discussions were mediated by a third party, and the Ikranaru Tsahìk was certainly that – in both senses of the word. This visit was more serious than he expected.

Ten minutes later, sixteen ikran flew in, in formation, and landed smoothly. It was well Yuri had insisted that the clan be painted up, as the warriors of the Rongloa were in their full glory as well – warpaint, beads and jewellery, and weapons.

Yuri waited for Renshaw to meet the Rongloa olo'eyktan. They exchanged a few words, but the body language was ugly. It was now or never. Just then, the rain stopped.

He lifted the war club into the air, and called out to the clan, who answered, and a shiver ran down his spine as the massed voices chanted the haka in Na'vi, slapping their chests and thighs in the ageless rhythm of the Māori, bulging their eyes, blowing out their cheeks, and stamping their feet.

 _Stranger  
_ _Why are you here?_ _  
_

 _Men of the Uniltìranyu  
_ _We ask you  
_ _We ask you_ _  
_

 _Women of the Uniltìranyu  
_ _Call on you  
_ _Give an answer_ _  
_

 _Our mother called to us  
_ _Come to Eywa'eveng  
_ _Leave your world_ _  
_

 _We answered the summons  
_ _Crossed the void  
_ _You saw the ships above_

 _Our un-kin followed  
_ _Seeking Eywa's death  
_ _We destroyed them_

 _The Uniltìranyu belong  
_ _To this land  
_ _Eywa claimed us_

 _Our spirit is strong  
_ _Our knowledge great  
_ _Our warriors deadly_

 _Uniltìranyu are true  
_ _To enemy and friend  
_ _Accept the challenge_

 _Stranger  
_ _Why are you here?_

 _HA!_

Yuri approached the Rongloa, each step striking out with the war club, smashing the invisible enemy with both club and shout. He stopped before the Rongloa olo'eyktan, catching his eye, and in a bow presented the war club horizontally in both hands, maintaining eye contact.

Sharon said quietly to the hesitating Rongloa, "A friend will take the offered weapon from the hands of the Uniltìranyu, as a gift _._ An enemy will take the weapon, and break it, to show there can be no friendship. _"_

The Na'vi chieftain nodded, accepting the war club. He said in a great voice, "The Uniltìranyu do the Rongloa much honour."

Yuri backed off, maintaining both bow and eye contact until he was standing before the ranks of the massed Uniltìranyu. He straightened and swivelled to face them, calling out, "Uniltìranyu, ten-hut." Despite the lack of boots, the thudding of bare feet on concrete was quite impressive, as the entire clan stood to attention.

The Tsahìk of the Ikranaru murmured, "Now, the clan remembers the dead, of both enemies and friends, in the language of their homeland, 'Ìnglìsì."

 _They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:  
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.  
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,  
We will remember them. _

_Lest we forget._

Thompson stepped forth, raised his shining bugle to his lips, and blew the melancholy notes of the Last Post. The notes died away into silence, the only sound the distant humming of insects. A minute later, Thompson played the rousing Reveille.

At the end, without an order, the Uniltìranyu broke ranks and dispersed.


	2. Chapter 2

Later that day, Yuri was summoned to the Boss' longhouse to meet with the Rongloa. Apparently, the visiting olo'eyktan was impressed by the statue of Se'ayl, and wanted a similar work – but something that expressed the unity of the Na'vi with Eywa, rather than a straight representation of an individual.

He had always found allegorical works more difficult that doing a straight representation. Just coming up with the underlying theme was a pain in the butt, and then working up the composition was generally an exercise in trial and error. Yuri did, however, find out what the problem was with the Rongloa. His friend Fingers had been in a little dust-up with a group of their hunters. Apparently, they had been pursuing the Uluta woman over some offense she had committed in their hunting grounds, and Fingers had been drawn into a fight with one of the Rongloa hunters. Given Uluta was officially part of the Uniltìranyu, it was up to the Boss to smooth over their ruffled feathers.

After some hours sketching up ideas of dubious merit for the Rongloa commission, Yuri felt he need a break.

"Tanhì…" he started, turning towards the young girl. He paused, and frowned at the image showing on the monitor. Yuri didn't recollect the image of heroic Soviet industrial workers appearing in any of the publications he had assigned for her reading. "What are you reading?"

The young Na'vi girl ducked her head, her skin darkening in embarrassment. She slid her data tablet across the bench, in a manner that suggested she really didn't want him to see what was on screen.

For Christ's sake, it wasn't pornography.

"Oh," he said, reading the title of the work emblazoned in Cyrillic across the top of the screen. "Borodin on twentieth century Soviet socialist realism. It's quite a good book, even though I don't agree with some of his main conclusions. Though I will admit that much of my work has been influenced by the school of socialist realism. It's not much of a surprise seeing where I went to art school…" Yuri's voice trailed off. Borodin was written in Russian, and there was no Na'vi-Russian translator that he knew of. The only automated Na'vi translation was to and from English.

Yuri started again. "Tanhì, are you reading Borodin in Russian?"

The girl nodded, if a little reluctantly.

"Russian," repeated Yuri. He frowned. "Just how many languages can you read?"

She bit her lip, and then held up six fingers, using both hands.

"Six," he stated, having a little problem processing the number. Stupidly, he asked, "Which ones?"

Tanhì held out her hand, obviously wanting the data tablet back. As soon as he returned it, she brought up different art texts in a variety of languages – English, French, German, Russian, Japanese, and obviously – Na'vi. Although, it must be said, for the last she brought up a text on the Na'vi language by some guy called Phred Palmer.

Yuri nodded. "I suppose the Na'vi translator didn't give an accurate translation of many of the terms. Or any translation at all, for that matter."

She nodded.

"Then you decided to teach yourself English, so you could read it in the original."

Tanhì nodded again.

"And once you started on English, you decided to learn the others as well. Because there were texts referenced that you wanted to read."

The girl clutched the data tablet to her breast, as though she was afraid it would be ripped away from her hands.

"Don't look at me like I'm a palulukan about to bite your head off," said Yuri. "You haven't done anything wrong. It's just…I'm a little surprised. And pleased."

The look of anxiety faded from Tanhì's face.

"However," said Yuri, inducing the anxiety straight back onto her visage, "I hope you don't take everything that is written in these books as absolute truth. They are only opinions, after all, and sometimes the authors are just flat wrong. You do understand this?"

He was relieved when she nodded several times, as if she was trying to emphasize her response. "Good," said Yuri. "I want you to develop your own critical faculties, to have your own opinions about art – both what you think is good, and what is bad. If you don't develop your own ideas, you won't be able to create anything fresh and new. Instead, all you will do is repeat the old."

Slowly, Tanhì nodded again, as though she was thinking about what he had just said.

"Do you know how to use e-mail?" he asked. When she shook her head in negation, Yuri said, "I'm sure you can figure it out. I'd like to know what you've been reading in addition to the books I have assigned. I may suggest some other texts you should look at, in order to broaden your perspective. Other than that, I will leave you to your own devices regarding what you study." He smiled evilly, and added, "I would be interested to read your opinions on what you read, and about the works you find most appealing. Or for that matter, the works you dislike, and the reasons why."

A sudden thought popped into Yuri's head. "I would prefer responses in English, Russian or Na'vi," he said. "I'm afraid I don't have your aptitude regarding absorbing a large variety of languages."

By the slightly crestfallen expression on her face, Tanhì had realised what he was asking of her. To let her down gently, he said, "I think getting your response once a week will be more than enough."

"There is something else," he continued. "I would like you to produce some water colours on paper – I think the tawtute buildings of Hell's Gate would be a good starting point – not the longhouses. Read up on Turner and Constable, and study their techniques before you start. Three weeks should be enough time for you to produce your first attempts. I'll show you where the supplies are, and demonstrate how to whip up a watercolour – even though it's not my most favoured medium."

At that news, Tanhì brightened considerably.

* * *

The following day, Yuri was surprised when he rolled up at his work-bench – actually, surprised wasn't the right word. Disappointed was the right word. Tanhì wasn't there. He had become accustomed to seeing her serious face bent over her data tablet when he arrived, already totally involved in her reading.

In fact, she didn't show up until after midday, her data tablet tucked under her arm. She almost scuttled in, as though she was hoping he wouldn't notice.

Yuri looked at her, raising an eyebrow. She glared back at him, as though she was challenging him to say anything.

Which he did.

"Uniluke?"

Tanhì's face darkened – if she had been tawtute, from the expression on her face Yuri suspected that she would have flushed bright red all the way down to her waist. She nodded once, as though he was pulling out her fingernails.

"Ok," he said mildly. "Next time, let me know the day before you are going to celebrate Uniluke, so I know whether to expect your presence."

The girl looked away, and then looked back, and gave a brief nod.

By god, he was pulling her fingernails out. Tanhì was pissed off, but determined she wasn't going to show any sign of it. Luckily for Yuri, he had become accustomed to judging people's emotional state by the actions of their tails. The tail was a dead giveaway, and was the prime reason why Na'vi sucked at lying. There was even a Na'vi saying that went something like 'as faithless as one without a tail'.

A little unflattering for the former tawtute perhaps, but uncomfortably accurate nonetheless.

"In the meantime," said Yuri blandly, "I would like you to watch what I am doing. Today, I was going to show you how to put a supporting framework together. It's time to start work on the Plains People pa'li commission."

Without waiting for her reaction, Yuri flicked up his sketches for the work on the big screen, and started to talk. Talk about the basic concept of the design, and the areas that required the support of a framework. He talked about the impact of the firing process, and how that influenced the design of the framework, from the perspective of ensuring even heating and cooling of the work. And how the firing impacted the overall design.

In fact, he talked as he had never talked about a work before, justifying all his design decisions, including the reasons why he made the choices he had.

"A major part of being an artist is understanding the medium," he said. "What is technically feasible, and what is not. However, you should not be afraid to test the limits, as long as you are prepared to accept the possibility of failure. Experimentation is an essential part of being an artist. If I hadn't been prepared to risk using bone as a support structure, I could not have achieved a major work like the statue of Se'ayl. This was particularly important for a sculpture as traditional materials like bronze are not an option on Pandora."

Once Yuri had finished talking about the design decisions, he started fitting the prepared pieces of bone together, showing Tanhì the differing methods he used to connect them, without use of any other materials.

All too soon, the framework was fully assembled, looking not unlike a mockery of a skeleton. "By the look on your face, Tanhì," said Yuri, "You are beginning to see the final shape of the work." He cocked his head, observing her, before adding, "But not without some reservations, I think."

Tanhì made a sign of assent with one hand, and then used it to simulate the legs of a galloping pa'li.

"The gait seems wrong to you," commented Yuri. He had chosen to show the horse-like creature at full gallop, as he felt it the only way to demonstrate the muscular strength of the animal. "Well, I have an answer for that."

He flicked up a video file onto the big screen, and played back it back at four frames a second, clarly showing the gait of the six-legged animal. It was amusing to watch Tanhì's jaw drop as she clearly saw the flailing legs freeze in the same stance he had chosen for the sculpture.

"It goes to show a little research never harms the artist," said Yuri, his face deadly serious. "Mind you, the pose provided some additional technical challenges from a structural point of view."

Tanhì pointed to the most complex part of the framework.

"Yes," he agreed. "Quite right. That is the most critical part of the whole framework, but once we get some clay on it, the joint will stabilise rather nicely. Which leads me on to the next point. It's time to collect clay. I don't like storing it for long, as it dries out, and then gives inconsistent results. I assume you are reasonable with a bow."

By the glare she gave him, it was apparent that she had received the training all Na'vi did – and she considered that she considered her skill at archery as somewhat more than reasonable.

"Good," said Yuri, ignoring the glare. "While there shouldn't be any real problems with predators close to Hell's Gate, one can't be too careful."

* * *

Yuri was a little nonplussed when three young women accompanied them on the clay expedition. From the way they greeted Tanhì, and how one of them held the girl's hand while she led a pa'li with the other, he gathered they were her sisters of the tsumuke'awsiteng.

Two of them were five fingered Uniltìranyu, by their age presumably arrivals from the final starship, while the third was Na'vi born. All of them looked older than Tanhì.

"Hi," said one of the Uniltìranyu, in English. "You must be Yuri. I'm Thandie."

"A pleasure," growled Yuri, dispensing with the standard Na'vi greeting. "You should really say 'I see you'."

"Sorry," she apologised. "I'm still getting used to the whole Na'vi thing."

"It takes a little while," admitted Yuri. "Even after five years wearing the smurf suit, it still occasionally feels a little surreal to me. What's your gig here?"

"I'm a communications engineer," said Thandie. "But I've been seconded to Doc Palmer's team as a research assistant on Project Orpheus. It's fascinating work."

"Don't spend too much time locked inside," advised Yuri. "To make a success of your new life, you need to spend time in the forest, among our brothers and sisters."

Thandie laughed merrily. "There's not much chance of avoiding time in the green. Both Tanhì and Syulang make sure Agnetha and I get out and about."

"Good," he commented. They walked for about fifty metres before he spoke again. "I'm a little surprised that Tanhì found a circle of sisters so quickly."

"Not really," said Thandie. "Tanhì is really smart, and incredibly funny. We are lucky to have her."

"Funny?" Yuri couldn't see how his very serious apprentice could be construed as funny, given her handicap.

"She's an absolute scream at charades," smiled Thandie, "Especially when she gets high."

"I think that's one of the things you're not supposed to talk about to men," admonished Yuri gently. "Uniluke is supposed to be secret women's business."

"Oh!" exclaimed the engineer. "There's so much to learn. All the cultural stuff is so confusing, especially learning a new language as well."

Yuri advised, "Amala is very helpful. I would talk to her."

"Agnetha and I go to her orientation sessions twice a week," said Thandie. "I wonder if she does one-on-ones as well."

"I'm sure she will," said Yuri.

"You were one of the Special Forces dudes," stated Thandie. "The ones who took the starships, with Renshaw, weren't you?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," growled Yuri.

"Sorry," she squeaked. "I didn't mean to offend."

With those words, Thandie flitted off back to her girlfriends. Yuri reflected that he hadn't lost his unmatched ability to scare women away.


End file.
